Through Your Eyes
by Etheromaniac
Summary: She's a singer who lost sight of her dreams, and she's a dreamer who lost her vision; perhaps they can meet somewhere in between.


Step 1

**Coffee Stains and Friendship Gained**

* * *

Santana Lopez never thought she would find herself a part of the working class, even if she was born and raised in Lima, Ohio. One could say she was born with a silver spoon in her mouth and the world served on a gold-plated platter, but in actuality the spoon was the gold one and the platter lined with diamonds; such was the luxuries of Ohio's top surgeon and lawyer. If Santana was given such fortune, then why was she nursing a brain-splitting headache in the midst of a rowdy cafe? Furthermore, why wasn't she that beautiful girl in the cozy corner of the shop surrounded by friends? It was something she questioned every day for the last two years of her life.

The Latina sighed, leaning her elbows on the counter before her. The headache was so bad that she didn't care about the fresh coffee spills on the top, though some of those stains were questionable. She couldn't have been more thankful to not have waiting shift today. Surely, and actually she was positive about it, she would have lost her mind and her job in six hours easily.

"Need a pick me up, San?" Her co-worker, and sickeningly perky friend, Sam brushed by her from behind as he worked about fixing a customer's latte. "You look like death."

"Ass," she hissed as she ran a hand through dark locks and stood up straight. The last thing she needed was the manager harping at her "lackadaisical attitude." "A pick me up? I didn't think you took your film major that seriously."

"What? Oh…no! I meant a good ol' cup of Joe."

"We work in a coffee shop, Evans; the last thing I want is coffee."

Sam jumps back in horror, as if someone told him George Clooney would be reprising his role as Batman for the planned Justice League film. He almost spilled the freshly made hot beverage in his hands.

"_Blasphemy!_"

"I haven't had coffee for as long as I have worked here." Santana explained for the pure enjoyment of Sam's terrified expression.

"How the hell do you function?" He asked incredulously though a certain glimmer in his hazel-green eyes made her wary.

"Don't you fucking dare," she shied away, almost knocking over a rack of freshly baked cookies on the counter behind her. She jolted further at the sight of their manager; she really needed to get back to work, headache be damned. "And that's easy, I don't."

With the last word, Santana made her way to her register a measly few feet away from the shaggy blonde. It faced the opposite side of the café, giving her the perfect view of the cause of her pain. It was snowing rather heavily, a sight that made the feisty brunette scoff the first time she noticed a light coating on the ground. The local news declared it the "storm of the century," as per usual, so naturally schools and businesses took the warning seriously. San always wondered why the town fell for that fallacy, but compared to when she was in high school, she saw it as a hindrance.

Kids of all ages were pouring in from every entrance, in which there was only two, yet more importantly, mostly students from the community college down the street were taking up residence. Santana especially hated dealing with them since some were from her graduating class. She didn't have a problem with them being students much less community students; it was what they reminded her of in combination with the occasional snide remark that often caused internal conflict. After all, she was a drop-out from a prestigious university, and news that big was inescapable in a place like Lima.

In any case, she hated her job during this season. And to think she once loved the snow.

Once she re-opened her register, customer after customer came through, practically throwing themselves at her for some liquid to keep them warm. It was beyond exhausting when the shop got this busy and more so when the tension in Santana's head refused to release. In fact, she swore the pounding increased like an enraged jackhammer. She was close to begging for a half-day because there was no way she was going to last three more hours.

"Hey San!" Sam called from his station and she regretfully whipped her head in his direction. "You know I love you, right?"

She sighed and deposited her current customer's money, gave him his change, and politely wished him a good day with a tight lipped smile. "I don't have any money, Evans."

"That's not what I want," he whined, only incriminating himself further as he shuffled over to her with puppy eyes and a pout that looked odd with his wide lips.

"Seriously Trouty Mouth, I just paid last and this month's rent. My pockets are eating lint every day."

"You wound me with such insults for only proclaiming my love for you in exchange for currency, Fair Maiden."

She cracked a smile at his Renaissance accent but it didn't change her stance. "Out with it."

"Can you watch over my register while I-"

"I swear to God, if you say so you can have a quickie with Porcelain, I will fart in your general direction." Santana scowled knowing Sam's "breaks" always involved his boyfriend in some way or form. Not to mention, she still found it difficult to forgive him for not giving her proper warning before entering the storage room last month.

"We're just going to make out for a bit." Sam defended.

"A bit will turn into hours and we know how that ended last time. I still can't erase your pasty white ass from my memory banks." She rubbed her eyes as the image was brought back to the front.

"My ass isn't pasty!" He cried in shock, earning looks from nearby tables. He then whispered in embarrassment. "And besides, you should've knocked."

"Yeah, because I totally thought I should take precaution entering the storage room. My best friend and his boyfriend might be having sex in there." Santana shot him a scandalous look. "On the sacks of coffee beans, Sam? Really?"

"He likes the smell of hazelnut on me."

"Too much fucking information!"

"Can you just cover me? Kurt and I have some serious matters to discuss."

"Ugh…fine. You owe me, Evans. You owe me so fucking hard your first child belongs to me."

"You're the best babe!"

Before running off to join his boyfriend at a table in the back, he pressed a slobbery kiss to a caramel cheek, earning him further silent curses and glares from its owner. _Fucking Evans_. As if the first favor wasn't enough, just as Santana got settled with Sam's customer flow, which now involved both his and her usual people, she was called on by another co-worker. She practically slammed the cash drawer shut for she knew her fellow employee wasn't just stopping by to say hi.

"What do you want, Emma?"

The jittery red-head might as well have leapt a foot in the air at the brusque reply on reaching the counter. Why she was working there was beyond Santana and Sam and just about every other employee including the manager. It was no secret that she had a major issue with germs and mess no matter how much she tried to hide how much it bothered her. Her large doe eyes, while reminding Santana of a bug or perhaps a lost baby animal, were constantly shifting around in a paranoid fashion. On a good day, while few and far in between, she could commemorate Emma for her bravery for just showing up to work despite her obvious condition. On the other days, the woman bothered her to no end, so today was no different.

"H-hi Santana. Um…Mick – uh – wants you to work the f-floor."

It was definitely going to be one of those days.

"Are you fucking kidding me? Why the fuck does he need me waiting tables?"

Her cursing was also another thing that got to Emma. "Santana!" She spoke strongly at first but upon noticing the near murder intent in mocha eyes, she lost her bravado. "There's…there are children here and this…this is a – um – family friendly place. If you must, uh, use such strong words please do so q-quietly."

Santana was close to her boiling point. "What. Does. He. Want. Emma?"

"Ah, right! Um…well, Trey had to leave early. He had to…pick his mom…Um…"

The Latina didn't want to hear the rest, she was finished at the words Trey, leave, and early. The fact that his mom was mentioned only pulled her further into her impending rage. Everyone and their mother knew Trey's mom died a year ago yet somehow Mick didn't. If she even dared to be excused early she knew she would have been denied in a heartbeat. _Remember your breathing techniques._ Santana chided herself as she closed her eyes and sharply took a deep breath through her nose and exhaled a little harshly. She did this three more times, her pace evening out as she got to the last one, before she slowly opened her eyes and stared at Emma blankly.

"What tables?"

"I-I'm sorry – um – what?" Emma was startled again by the sudden question.

"What tables?" Santana repeated more slowly. To the contrary, it wasn't for the older woman's benefit; it was to keep her anger from building again.

"Oh, right! Uh…tables three, four, and seven."

"I'm assuming you're taking over this register?"

"T-that would be correct."

"Enjoy."

Emma lacked the comprehension to realize it was sarcasm. She smiled and waved at the retreating brunette, chirping, "Thanks, you too!"

It seemed the moment Santana's tennis shoes stepped outside of the counter area she was being called for by her assigned tables. _Thanks for alerting them in advance, Mick_. A fake smile was plastered to her face as she made the trek across the shop to table four first; they were the closest.

The always bustling café was rather famous for reasons Santana didn't quite care to know about. She was vaguely aware that it revolved around some great first for the United States, or was it altogether; regardless, all she did know was that it caused more harm than good for her mental health considering the amount of tourists that mixed in with citizens of Lima. Oddly enough, despite the amount of business that waltzed in and out of the coffee shop, it remained relatively small in structure. With the shop placed on a corner, it had a triangular frame; it looked smaller on the outside than it did inside but still small all the same. With a simple set up of an L-shaped bar counter at the back of the shop, placed before the kitchen, storage, and break room, the tables and booths were placed in a circular pattern around them. There were about five to ten tables on the first floor, some doubled up. It was a layout that gave Santana a headache more than necessary, primarily when some customers wanted to be lazy pricks at the counter and have her carry their meal or drinks upstairs.

Overall, the café wasn't too shabby. If it wasn't for being an employee, she was certain she would enjoy it more as a customer. The wood and brick work, warm colors, friendly service, and great food and coffee gave it that home-like quality that was the main reason, a side from its self-proclaimed celebrity status, for why it had many customers.

Two hours later with only an hour of her shift left, Santana was more than ready to head home. Sam, though initially confused at the sight of Emma at his register when he returned, did his best to give her support through his silly faces and lame impressions. He was the sole reason this job was bearable and why she hadn't quit two weeks in. He was only a year younger than her and yet she found herself enjoying his company immensely, even if she would never admit that to his face. She unconsciously smiled fondly at the memory of the first time they met.

Kurt, who she had known since high school, had finally introduced his mystery boy toy to her and their other friends two years ago. She had been badgering the small brunette for months in the form of poorly veiled insults, mock bouts of moaning when interacting, and crude comments until he finally snapped and planned a dinner for everyone to meet Sam. It only took the blonde walking through the door of Kurt's father's house, for Santana to find something to pick on, his large lips. He replied with a hug, some, at the time, odd James Earl Jones greeting, and instantly became a favorite among Kurt's friend, which was a huge improvement over his previous boyfriend.

Santana managed to get this job because of Sam, so all banter a side, she was truly grateful to have met him; of course there was the bonus that he made Kurt extremely happy.

"Yo, chica, we need a refill."

Too bad she couldn't say the same for herself.

"Coming," she gritted out and made her way to table seven, the only table that appeared to have it out for her and didn't want to leave. "How can I serve you?"

A side from the one guy, the one who spoke, the group of students seemed nice. There were six of them seated in the booth; three guys and three girls looking like the picture perfect group of friends. Seated on one end of the table was a dreadlocked young man and a fierce looking young woman. He dressed like a hippie, or a hipster or whatever they were calling it these days, with the military style jacket, a bright red scarf, and fingerless gloves. She, on the other hand, had a thick pea coat on with a magenta scarf and matching gloves; a diva for sure. They were caught in a heated religious debate from what tidbits she unwillingly caught. Next to teen Jesus was another brunette, hair styled back and not nearly dressed as warm as the rest of them; next to him was a peppy young woman with dirty blonde hair styled in pigtails and dressed in a ridiculous fashion that at least kept her warm. The young man was trying his hardest to catch her attention but her eyes were too focused on the iPhone she was rapidly texting on.

Finally, there was the douchebag of the day. She almost felt sorry for the blonde seated next to him, seemingly ensnared between his wheelchair and his arm that hung awkwardly over her shoulder, except the large D&G glasses, North Face jacket, and Uggs she wore gave her the appearance of a snob. A match made in heaven.

"We want a refill on all of our coffees, if that's not asking too much of you."

What should have been a courteous statement came out condescendingly from the bowl-cut handicap. Apparently she wasn't the only one who noticed for the blonde spoke up for the first time in Santana's presence.

"Artie, be nice."

"I am being nice, babe. I was just making sure our waitress doesn't strain herself since it's been so busy here."

The blonde didn't turn to him once yet a smile spread across her face, making her high cheekbones move higher.

"You're so thoughtful."

"Always am." Artie then leaned over and kissed her cheek which lead to more though rather forced on his part.

Santana didn't have time for this. She cleared her throat, causing the blonde to jump back, flushed in embarrassment, and earning a glare from the wheelchair-bound young man. She glared back as if daring him to take action against her. She wasn't afraid to hit a handicapped person. "What do you want? The same or something different?"

At the prospect of changing orders, the blonde seemed to bounce back from her previous humiliation and looked at Santana with the brightest smile she had ever seen. It was almost enough to get the brunette to smile back until she realized the young woman was staring at her brown apron covered chest, thus sparking the opposite. Was she ogling her goods?

"Can I have a hot chocolate with extra, extra marshmallows?"

Santana thought she was mistaken, almost missing the blonde's request, but the girl continued to stare. She frowned further the longer the stare was held and responded a little curtly. "We don't do extra, extra marshmallows."

"Oh, that's okay. Just ask Sam, he'll know what I'm talking about."

What is wrong with this girl? And she knows Sam? Then again, Sam did attend the community college, and from the brief pieces of conversation she walked into, these young adults were enrolled there as well.

"Whatever you want."

"Like Burger King?"

Santana was about to bite back with a snarky reply, beginning to think this girl wasn't as innocent as she appeared to be, but fortunately the texter interrupted.

"Ew Britt, that place is disgusting. Only homeless people eat there. Asperger's!"

From there a huge debate seemed to spark over the chain restaurant that left Santana hoping to some great deity that Sam wasn't friends with them and only knew the girl named Britt in passing. If he was, she would have to sit him down and discuss where he's heading in life.

She was going to do her job and ask if that was all they wanted, however, she didn't care enough at that point and wanted to leave their table as soon as possible. She shot out a quick, "I'll be back with your order," picked up their mugs, and spun on her heel to leave. Unfortunately, and though she would later swear it was done on purpose, Artie moved his wheelchair at the same time. Her foot snagged the front wheel just as she turned and in a matter of seconds she was on the floor, blouse stained with whatever coffee was left in the mugs, and surrounded by shattered ceramic.

In her stunned haze, she completely missed Britt's frantic pleas for what happened and what was going on. In her stunned haze, she missed the furious demand of her manager for the same thing as he stormed over to her. In her stunned haze, she missed Sam's words of concern as he helped her to her feet. But once the stunned haze was clear, her vision quickly filled with red as she yanked her arm free from Sam's grasp and faced Artie. For a fraction of a second he genuinely seemed guilty, then she quickly saw through his act for the smug bastard he was.

"You fucking did that on purpose!" Santana barked, doing everything she could to refrain herself from hitting him.

"What are you talking about? You're the one who clearly didn't see my chair."

"Oh really, Stubble McCripple Pants? So you weren't trying to obstruct a waitress' path when she's carrying six fucking mugs of half-finished coffee? I call bullshit –"

"Santana, enough!" Mick interfered for fear of issues escalating to a point of bad business.

"No, any of his friends could voucher for me. He moved his wheelchair just as I was leaving."

"Santana, if you say one more word, I will fire you."

"Fuck you, I quit!"

The café seemed to go quiet at the sudden howl that echoed around.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. I fucking quit."

Santana then tore off her apron, shoved it into a shocked Sam's hands, and stormed off to the break room. She ignored Mick's angry shouts until she slammed the metal door behind her then slump her back against it. If there was one thing he got right it was that enough was indeed enough. This wasn't how her life was supposed to be, so why should she let a few dire circumstances change its course?

"Fuck this place," she mumbled as she stumbled to her feet and made her way to her locker to retrieve her coat, other winter accessories, and her purse. She planned to call what few people she considered friends and lose herself to alcohol that night. It was well deserved if she said so herself.

She was surprised but not completely shocked that Mick didn't follow her into the break room. Thankfully, he didn't and probably was making Sam clean up her mess. It gave her the peace and quiet she needed to collect herself while pulling on her bomber jacket, hat, scarf, and gloves. She wished she could say she would regret this later but there were so many regrets in her life that they no longer burdened her. This was just another one to add to the list. Oh, won't her parents be proud.

Santana slammed her locker shut once she was finished and began to dig through her purse for her cell phone. In her quest to find the mobile device among all the junk she threw in there, she didn't realize someone had entered the break room until the metal door clinked shut. Her head shot up, reminding her of the once dull throb that was now coming back full force, and her eyes went wide at the last person she expected to see.

"If you want your fucking extra, extra marshmallows, go ask Sam. I don't work here anymore in case you didn't catch all of that."

"Actually, you do still work here." The one called Britt nodded as she leaned against the door almost in the same manner Santana had earlier. Her mitt covered hands were slowly but surely feeling the door horizontally until she had enough and dropped her hands at her side.

"What are you talking about?" Santana frowned, shifting from one foot to the other. She didn't know why she was giving this young woman her attention when she could just as easily push her aside and leave. It may be almost two in the afternoon, but she had some drinking to do.

"The manager isn't firing you."

"I don't care, I quit."

"You should care. Don't you need this job?"

At that, Santana was up in arms, like a dog with hackles raised and poised to attack. "Who the fuck do you think you are? You don't know me or why I was working here, so fuck off."

"You didn't look like you enjoyed working here, so I assumed you weren't working here by choice." The blonde explained like it was simple logic, even going as far as to place her arms and hands in a thinking pose.

"Well you know what they say when you assume."

"What do they say?"

"Are you serious?"

"No, I'm Brittany S. Pierce, though being the godfather of Harry would be cool."

The Latina was almost too shocked and a little bit confused to be angry. "It's official, you're fucking nuts."

"And you curse like a drunken sailor. Why do drunken sailors curse so much? Do you think it's because they're sad to be away from their friends and families?" Brittany wondered.

"How the f-…how the hell should I know?" Santana shook her head for getting caught up in this girl's crazy world. "Whatever. Look, can you move so I can leave."

"What's the magic word?"

"Piss off, now move."

"I had a different P-word in mind."

"I don't care. Move!" She was a second away from shoving the blonde a side.

"What about your job? Don't you want it? I got it back for you after all." She smiled as if she accomplished the greatest mission known to man.

"I don't ca- wait…what?" Santana stared at Brittany incredulously. "You're shitting me."

"That's unsanitary not to mention disgusting, though whatever floats your boat."

"I don't mean literally."

Brittany seemed to perk up at that. "Oh, well then in that case, you're not disgusting."

"Get with the explaining please," sighed Santana. This was not helping her aching head at all.

"I told the manager I tripped you by accident."

"How? You were clearly seated in the booth with his wheelchair in front of you."

"I have long legs."

"Not that long."

"Well that's mean."

Santana wanted to scream. "Anyone with eyes could see that you had nothing to do with it and your stupid boyfriend was the culprit."

"Good thing I don't have eyes then."

"What?"

"I'm blind." Brittany stated it as if she was telling someone her zodiac sign. She even smiled for good measure; it was unbelievable.

"No you're not."

"Yes I am."

"No, you're not."

"Uh, I think I would know if I could see or not, silly."

She was blind. She couldn't see. She was lacking visual perception. No matter how Santana processed the information her mind couldn't grasp the concept. Even if it explained why Brittany's gaze landed on her chest earlier, she couldn't believe it. She didn't look blind, not that there was anything specific to give a blind person away. She didn't have a walking stick for one, and with the glasses covering her eyes, there wasn't a direct way of determining if what she spoke was true or just a ploy she used to help Santana get her job back.

"If you're blind, how did you follow me here?" She questioned skeptically.

"You alright in there Brittany? Santana didn't murder you did she?" Sam's voice bellowed from the other side of the door, answering her question and making her angry at the same time. She had anger issues but murder was going too far.

"I'm fine, Sam."

"Fuck you, Sam."

"Good to know you're alive Britt, and love you too San."

There was a moment of silence as Santana still tried to wrap her head around her unplanned hero and Brittany basked in her presence.

The slightly older woman was the first to break the calm. "Why did you help me?"

Brittany smiled kindly though her gaze appeared to be focused on the floor. "Doesn't everyone need a helping hand sometimes?"

"Not everyone…" _Not me._

"I help anyway."

"So I see…"

Mocha eyes joined covered ones on the floor.

"What's your name?"

Her voice sounded closer than before, and upon looking up, Santana was correct in assuming so. Her sudden closeness nearly gave her heart attack but she merely took a step back. She wasn't one for touching unless necessary or in the bedroom.

"You just heard it," she frowned, sticking her hands in her coat pockets.

"Your full name. You know my full name." Brittany pouted.

"No one told you to tell me your whole name." Brittany's bottom lip stuck out more, something Santana couldn't deny no matter who was doing it. "Ay dios mio…its Santana Lopez, okay? Now are you going to leave me al-"

Without warning, the blonde latched her lanky arms through the loops in Santana's arms and hugged her tight. At first, it caught the Latina off guard. It wasn't often she was spontaneously hugged, even by her own friends. After a few seconds she relaxed a bit, almost tempted to hug the crazy blonde in return. Yet once that thought crept into her mind, she was quick to reject the embrace, and grabbed Brittany's arms to force her to release.

"Listen, thanks for getting my job back and all, but that doesn't make us friends."

"That's okay; I'm going to win your friendship."

Santana half scoffed-half chuckled at the surge of determination in the blonde's voice. Part of her hoped she'd never run into her again, though that was unlikely in a place like Lima, but the other part silently admitted that being friends didn't sound too bad.

"Yeah, you do that."

* * *

**This is a plot I've been toying with for the past month. I'm honestly not quite sure where I'm going to head with it but I'm just going with the flow for now. **

**Don't expect too many updates until next week when I have Thanksgiving break. I unfortunately failed to stay true to my update schedule for my other story so I know not to make any declarations for this one. As stated, ****I'm not 100% back but I'm working my way there. This semester killed me more than I thought it would. I'm only taking three classes but two are writing intensive but all three are reading intensive, so I haven't had much time to write for my own enjoyment. **

**I hope you enjoy the start of this journey!**


End file.
